


Rescheduled

by charab



Series: Stamp Of Approval [16]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Headmaster's office, M/M, Pulled into a kiss, kkir25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charab/pseuds/charab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was much to be said about chasing tail in the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescheduled

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Pulled into a Kiss

As a man whose trademark was considered to be the high, spiky ponytail swishing and swaying by the pace of his brisk steps and turns of his sharp head, Iruka could claim to be fairly well acquainted with all that came with the said hairdo, just like a Yamanaka or any other shinobi who chose to keep their hair long would be. From the early days of his active career, the tokujo had been given both parental advices and patronizing remarks of what problems long hair could cause in the field, which in a way was to be expected considering that any benefit that was given to the enemy raised the amount of risks for the allies. Yet despite all the arguments and talks he had about his hair and all the pragmatic demonstrations his sadistic peers gave him during training whenever they were in the mood of getting on his nerves, the dark-haired man kept his head about his ponytail and refused to cut it off. Some jabbed that it was part of his masculine pride, but a few modified and well-placed explosive tags usually made them understand that it certainly wasn't his hair that he was proud of.  
  
Moreover, even though many were caught in the act of trying to imagine it, he certainly didn't need to let his hair down as a way of adding to his appeal. As a matter of fact, if there was something that his jounin sensei had managed to beat into his head it was that if he was giving the opponent already one handicap to beat him in battle then Iruka really should know better than to willingly offer himself as a helpless target. So, the hair stayed tied up most of the time. That of course didn't stop his colleagues from messing with it: his tail had been pulled, yanked, tweaked, twisted, curled, fluffed, swiped at with a shuriken, nearly nailed to the wall with a kunai, singed with a few fire jutsus, soaked with various liquids and clumped with sticky substances that he wasn't too keen to take a closer look in most cases. It had even been used as a brush once, which taught him not to pass out while drinking with the bastards that called themselves his friends. The chakra-enhanced ink had been a bitch to wash out.  
  
On the other hand, the more he was forced to avoid and dodge the pranks and schemes that were directed to his abused ponytail, the better his reflexes trained to be, which proved to be rather handy both when working in the classroom and during mission conflicts. The better Iruka had learned to twist, turn and duck his head in order to protect his hair the better prepared he was for reacting and responding to the moves of his opponents in order to not get his throat slit – as well as to keep himself from getting tree sap all over himself when perching in the canopy or being covered in mud after a rather impressive collision of water and earth jutsus. In that sense, the shenanigans he had to endure at work and free-time played for his benefit on the field, much to the annoyance of the ones who had given his ponytail a hard time. Of course, the annoyance could also stem from his casual remarks about the state the others were in when they made their trudge back to Konoha, but that was merely a matter of opinion.  
  
That said, the dark-haired tokubetsu had grown to be cautious whenever someone approached him with a certain kind of gleam in their eyes.  
  
Of course, that was before he had gotten intimately involved with a jounin who had intelligently glinting dark gray eyes and fatally deft fingers.  
  
Iruka hummed into the kiss and closed his eyes, the headmaster enjoying not only the way the other man's tongue licked its way inside his mouth but also the good grip the other man had on the base of his ponytail, directing the tilt of his head up and controlling the pressure of his mouth against the others, making him forget the way his proverbial knuckles turned white as he tried to hold onto his self-control. During the time he had spent with his lover, Iruka had learned to let things run their course when it came to the plans the jounin had formed regarding his ponytail; to stop the instinctive reactions of his body whenever the pale hands made their way from his shoulders to his hair and pulled him towards the pale man and the sinfully smirking thin lips. Because, all his training be damned, the way the jounin knew how to play with the opportunity he was offered made Iruka more than willing to let the man have it.  
  
The same pale pink lips were smirking yet again as they permitted the air to flow back into his hurting lungs, if only to let the jounin's clever tongue swipe against his parted lips, and Iruka felt the nimble fingers give a sharp tug at his ponytail; asking, confirming.  
  
“Please,” he heard himself plea, with urgency to his breath, and no thought given to the question of why the Hokage had decided to pay a visit to his office at the Academy in the middle of the day and if the man knew that the faculty meeting was about to start within the next ten minutes.  
  
As if knowing his thoughts, the hold on his hair tightened, and soon enough the tokujo was guided up from his office chair and pulled against the strong male body that settled to lean against his desk. The fingers on his scalp urged him to claim the thin pair of lips once more, to savor the moans that he could swallow from his partner while he settled to stand between the Rokudaime's legs and his hands found the zipper they were looking for, the time slowing down with their mingling breaths as if the thought ten minutes had suddenly ceased to exist.  
  
Then again, plenty could be done in that time.


End file.
